


The masks we wear

by Bluemoonflower



Series: Shadow Dragon [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Mark, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Heartache, Loss of Virginity, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluemoonflower/pseuds/Bluemoonflower
Summary: Hermione attempts to get closer to Ron.But she gets to see a whole other side of Draco Malfoy instead.Set during HP and the Half-Blood Prince





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a dear friend.
> 
> Mostly movie based.
> 
> Enjoy!

‘What are you two giggling about this time?’ Hermione sighed, as she walked into the dormitory.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were sitting opposite one another on Lavender’s bed, their whispers ringing even more excitedly than usual. Hermione had never been the one for giddy girl talk, but today, she just couldn’t bear it. Her head felt all cluttered. There was so much going on. It had been an extremely busy week what with homework assignments and all, and she still hadn’t found out more about that book Harry was using to outdo her at potions. But most of all: it was Ron. Ron and Lavender. Together…

‘Why, we’re talking about the Masquerade of course!’ Parvati replied. ‘Lavender’s got the grandest thing! Show her, Lavender!’

Hermione cringed. The Masquerade. The one thing she had been desperately trying to forget all day. Dumbledore had announced it last week. A feast, to get everybody off thinking about Death Eaters and doom and to promote trust and openness amongst the students. How a ball where everybody would be wearing masks was supposed to promote trust and openness was beyond Hermione. All she knew was that a ball meant dancing. _Lavender and Ron_ dancing, that was…

And snogging, of course.

They couldn’t seem to get enough of that.

‘Look what my aunt sent me!’ piped up Lavender, as she produced a sleek black mask. It was Venetian, of the type that only covered the eyes and the bridge of the nose. In other words, it looked exactly the same as the mask every single student at Hogwarts had received this very morning.

‘Great,’ Hermione replied flatly. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She felt a twinge in her stomach at her own pettiness, but she couldn’t help it. Lavender and Ron. Ron and Lavender…

But Lavender was so high up on her pink cloud of happiness, she barely registered Hermione’s sarcasm, let alone be brought down by it.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she giggled, rolling her eyes. ‘But this one is _different_.’

Upon which Parvati joined in the giggling and they both continued it synchronously for a while. Hermione stifled another sigh. She succeeded, but only just. 

‘How is it different?’ she forced herself to ask.

‘It’s a _love_ mask,’ whispered Parvati gravely.

Hermione frowned, and that was all the encouragement Lavender needed.

‘It’s called a Love-is-Blindfold, actually,’ she explained. ‘It works kind of like the Sorting Hat, but in matters of the heart. When you wear it, it points you to _The One_.’

Hermione’s frown deepened, upon which Parvati clarified: ‘Your one true love, silly! The _man_ of your _life!_ ’ And then she and Lavender batted their eyelids and sighed in unison like two damsels in distress. 

Hermione’s stomach started to churn. There was a feeling of revulsion, but a terrible sort of doom-like excitement as well.

‘It’ll point me straight to Won-Won of course,’ Lavender breathed excitedly. ‘After tonight, we’ll have solid proof we’re meant to be together, for ever and _ever_.’

‘You’ve told Ron about this?’ Hermione managed to utter. Her face felt hot, as if she was overcome by a sudden bout of fever. 

‘Of course not!’ Parvati answered. ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise.’

‘How happy my dear Ronny-Wonny will be!’ Lavender exclaimed, clasping her hands.

‘And after they’ve found each other at the ball,’ Parvati beamed, ‘Lavender’s going to pass the mask to me. It’ll be so exciting to find out who my future husband will be!’

‘If he is in Hogwarts at the moment,’ Hermione mumbled. ‘There are other places on earth, you know.’ 

Lavender cocked her head, her blond curls gracefully catching the fire-light. Hermione wished they would have caught the fire instead. ‘Would you like to be next, Hermione?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Huh?’ Hermione felt like she was in a dream.

‘Would you like to use the mask after Parvati?’ Lavender repeated.

An overwhelming desire flared up in Hermione’s stomach, making her feel queasier than ever. She clutched the books she was carrying tightly to her chest, and lifted her chin. ‘No thank you,’ she declared imperially. ‘That sort of silliness doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I consider it right up there with love potions and the like.’

Lavender and Parvati looked disappointed. ‘But you are _coming_ to the Masquerade, at least?’ 

Hermione had been planning to, but suddenly her pride just didn’t allow an affirmative answer to that question anymore. ‘No,’ she said, rather more emotionally than she had intended. ‘The whole thing’s as silly as that stupid mask is.’

And then she turned on her heel and marched straight out of the dormitory.


	2. Chapter 2

The library was deserted. Everyone was in the bathrooms, getting ready for the Masquerade. Hermione clenched her jaw and tried to concentrate on the volume of _Potion making through the Ages_ in front of her. She put her elbows on the desk, trying to limit her vision to the text and nothing else. But as she moved, she felt something foreign inside her robes, pricking in her side. 

The mask…

Hermione got it out and looked at it. It wasn’t the Love-is-Blindfold, just the mask she had received this morning from professor McGonagall. Her invitation to the ball.

She let her fingers run over the smooth velvet. The empty eye-holes had something hypnotising about them. She imagined Ron’s eyes looking back at her from behind the black fabric, and a violent twinge made her stomach ball together. Would the Love-is-Blindfold really point Lavender to Ron? That was ludicrous, was it not? Those two weren’t made for each other. _Anyone_ could see that. Anyone could see that _she_ and Ron… 

Hermione shook her head.

She put the mask back in her robes and closed the book.

According to her watch, the Masquerade should have started by now. Which meant she could safely go back to the dormitory, cuddle up in bed with Crookshanks and forget all about this awful night.

But the moment Hermione re-entered her bedroom, she realised she had made a big mistake. 

She closed her eyes and sighed, as much annoyed with her room-mates’ lack of punctuality as with herself for counting too much on other people sharing her own standards.

Lavender and Parvati hadn’t returned from doing their hair and make-up yet. Their beautiful ball gowns were still hanging from the cupboard. 

And there was something else they had left…

There it was, on Lavender’s bed, tantalising like the apple in the garden of Eden: the Love-is-Blindfold.

Hermione eyed it with a mixture of dread, disdain and longing. She resented the fact that anything could make her feel this helpless. This _confused_. Like she was detached from the one thing she could usually count on: her intellect.

Something else was taking over. And taking over fast…

Hermione gasped, suddenly struck by a terrible realisation.

What if Lavender was going to fake it? Not knowingly, necessarily. It could be by accident. After all, the girl was so smitten with Ron it was only logical she would run straight for him the moment the ball started. She wouldn’t have any trouble recognising him either, since the only disguise they had were these flimsy masks. They hadn’t received any costumes. Everyone would easily know who the other ones were.

_She’ll go to Ron and then_ believe _they are meant for each other_ , Hermione thought, seriously starting to panic now. _And then she’ll never let him go!_

For a fraction of a second longer, Hermione hesitated. The silence in the dormitory seemed almost tangible. Then, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, she hurried over to Lavender’s bed, took her mask out and switched it with the Love-is-Blindfold.

 

*

 

Nerves raced through Hermione’s stomach as she stood in the Great Hall, waiting for Dumbledore to open the ball. She had arrived late, and the room was packed. Everyone was in their best attire, the girls looking like exotic birds in their brightly coloured dresses. Hermione felt another pang of nervousness. She was still in her ordinary robes, like she wanted to make a point that she didn’t care about the stupid dance at all. But in reality, there simply hadn’t been time to dress up anymore. She hoped all of that wouldn’t matter once the mask pointed her to Ron, though. After all, if two people were meant for each other, what did appearances really matter? She just had to make sure she got to him before Lavender did. Hermione got up on the tips of her toes, trying to spot her friends in the crowd. 

Someone brushed past her, and she almost lost her balance. ‘Hey, watch it!’ she snapped, a little more irritable than she had intended to.

‘Well, well, getting all worked up again, are we, Granger?’

Hermione scowled as she set eyes upon Malfoy. He and his cronies were looking her up and down, the latter smirking and grinning at her everyday robes.

‘Love the outfit,’ Malfoy sneered, he himself immaculately dressed. ‘But it surprises me a little you went against McGonagall’s instructions. She explicitly instructed us not to come in fancy dress. And that must be the best likeness of a boring, annoying, filthy little Mudblood I’ve ever seen.’

His brain-dead followers burst out in laughter.

Hermione cocked her head. ‘Well,’ she replied, with a meaningful look at the group of Slytherin girls he and his buddies had been heading for. ‘I was planning to come as a daft dimbo, but I’m afraid your girlfriend got the last costume.’

Malfoy’s unholy smile died away instantly. ‘Watch how you speak of Pansy. You couldn’t hold a candle to her.’ 

‘I wouldn’t want to,’ Hermione scoffed. ‘No need to see all _that_ in detail.’

‘Jealous, Granger?’ Blaise Zabini drawled, with a disdainful look at Hermione’s chest.

In a reflex, Hermione moved her arm as if to cover herself. Which made the group laugh even harder, of course.

‘You’re disgusting,’ she hissed, resenting the way her face went red. She turned around, indicating the conversation, if one could call it that, was over.

Still laughing, they walked on, and Hermione could hear them greet the Slytherin girls. But when she looked over her shoulder, she noticed Malfoy had stayed behind a bit. He was looking over his shoulder as well. And he wasn’t laughing at all… Hermione weathered his gaze, but only just. She was relieved when he finally turned around and joined his friends.

Hermione frowned. This little exchange of unpleasantries with Malfoy, once a faithful given throughout the school year, was actually the first one of note this semester. Apart from his confrontation with Harry on the train, Malfoy had all but left them alone. Come to think of it, him being around his Slytherin buddies was also a rarity these days.

Could Harry be right? Hermione asked herself. Was Malfoy really a Death Eater? He certainly was acting strangely enough, that was for sure…

But before she could entertain the idea any further, Dumbledore stepped up to the pulpit. The hall grew quiet.

‘The best of evenings to you all,’ Dumbledore spoke. ‘And welcome to the Masquerade. I am happy to see you responded to my invitation in such great numbers. As we all know, these are difficult times. Times where friends distrust each other, new enemies are made and old ones come to a head. You might ask yourself, why hold a Masked Ball in such a context? It would seem counter-productive. But sometimes, it’s only when our faces are hidden that we can show who we truly are. Therefore, I ask you now to put on the masks you were given this morning. ’

Hermione breathed in deeply. The Love-is-Blindfold was burning a hole in her robes. All around her students were putting their masks in front of their eyes. While her heart pounded like a sledge hammer, Hermione got the Love-is-Blindfold out. Nobody noticed it was different. She herself could hardly see the difference. But when she attached the velvet ropes behind her head, a shiver passed through her. She thought she could hear music. A single note. High and distant, like an ice crystal shattering.

Dumbledore pointed his wand towards the ceiling. ‘The Ball will now commence, and continue, until the stroke of twelve tonight. Persona Cammufla!’ Upon which brightly coloured fireworks bloomed in the starry sky above the hall.

A collective sigh went through the crowd. Hermione felt like she was being lifted up, and suddenly the fireworks were all around her. In an instant, her robes transformed into a beautiful, silvery white Venetian dress. The bindings of the Love-is-Blindfold disappeared and the mask stayed on her face out of its own, like it had become a part of her. All around, she could see the same thing happening to the others. Soon, the Hall looked like a Venetian Ballroom straight out of the 1700’s. And, what was more important, she realised she didn’t recognise _anyone_ anymore. She saw the colour of their hair, the colour of their eyes, the shape of their faces and bodies, but none of it rang a bell. It was like she was in a room full of people she had never met before.

Like a girl in a dream, Hermione wandered through the crowd. Faces, as confused as hers, stared back at her. No one recognised her, and she recognised no one in return. But unlike the others, her feet had purpose to them. The magic of the Love-is-Blindfold showed her the way, it urged her on, pointing out her route like a compass. She didn’t know where she was heading, but she knew she would when she got there.

_Oh, my love_ , she thought, finally allowing herself to feel for him what she had always felt, freely and without shame. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t done so before. After all, what was shameful about loving someone? All the doubt she had felt, the indecision and secret pining, had been washed away in an instant. _After tonight we will be together always. It was meant to be._

He was a mere concept to her now. An essence of a person. All her memories of him were intact, but they were stripped of his physical appearance and name. She had no idea what he looked like anymore, or what he was called. In fact, she couldn’t even remember her own name. But she knew _herself_ , her _true_ self. And she knew him, the one person she was meant to be with.

A small group in front of her dispersed, and there he was. Graceful and slender, dressed in all black. She had never seen anyone so beautiful, so absolutely perfect before. Without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment she walked up to him and said: ‘My love, I am here.’ 

When he turned around and looked at her, the world stopped. Behind the mask she saw eyes of a soft, blueish grey, like the sky on a cloudy day. There was no doubt her reflection was meant to be in those eyes forever.

‘I am here,’ she repeated. ‘Finally.’

He seemed a little startled. After all, he wasn’t wearing a Love-is-Blindfold. He couldn’t be sure who she was. But she felt no need to explain. He would feel the love she felt for him. How could he not? It was like a tangible, visible thing, radiating out from her towards him.

Drawn in by his eyes, she stepped closer still. Their bodies were just inches away from each other now. Like dancers, ready to assume an intimate pose. 

They stood like that for a while, trapped in the moment. 

Finally, it was he who boldly crossed the void between them. Without breaking his gaze, and in a gesture perfectly befitting the period dress they were in, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth. When he pressed his lips against the silver velvet of her glove, a new shiver passed through Hermione’s body. This wasn’t the Love-is-Blindfold. This was him. His soul, touching hers. 

The people around them started giggling. But she didn’t care. They were irrelevant. There was only one person that mattered now.

‘Take me away from here,’ she spoke. 

He didn’t answer. He just gave her a curt nod before proceeding to lead her through the Hall. Hermione felt dazed. She saw the bright colours of the fireworks above her. The gold and blue and indigo of the other students’ costumes. But it was like all of that belonged to another world. A world that turned in slow-motion, created only as a décor for him and her to move around in. 

Like two specters in black and silvery white, they passed through the myriad of colours. There was only him. Only she. Only they.

Hermione felt the warmth of his hand through the velvet of her glove. How she longed to really touch him. To experience the sensation of his skin against hers. The desire was like a thirst that had to be quenched. It filled her mind and made her body ache.

The solitude of the corridors came as a relief. They stopped and turned towards each other again.

‘Whereto now?’ Hermione whispered, moving her free hand upwards across his lapel. She could have touched his neck now, if she wanted to. The smooth skin there, so pale against the black of his costume…

For the first time that night, he spoke. ‘Where do you want to go, sweetheart?’

His voice struck strange new chords that had been buried somewhere deep inside of her. ‘Someplace we can be alone. Together…’ she answered.

‘Alone together,’ he repeated, with a gentle mocking smile. ‘You _are_ specific.’

Hermione smiled, and so did he. It brightened his eyes, and she had to struggle to keep from kissing him then and there. That mouth, those lips… ‘You know what I mean,’ she whispered, shrugging awkwardly. ‘Somewhere… _private_.’

She could see his pupils dilate. He was still smiling, but for the first time some nervousness shone through. He licked his lips, as if in doubt. Then he whispered: ‘I… I know a place.’

‘Where?’

They climbed the staircases to the seventh floor. They walked along the corridor, and when they passed the tapestry, a door appeared in the wall opposite. A door that hadn’t been there before.

Hermione ran her fingers over the iron studded wood. ‘The Room of Requirement…’

He nodded, and she wondered which one of them had conjured it. When she looked into his eyes again, she reckoned they both had. The realisation caused a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Together, they opened the door and stepped inside.


	3. Chapter 3

She had been right in thinking the both of them had conjured the Room. For herself, Hermione had always imagined _it_ would happen somewhere outside, close to nature. And the room had indeed created a beautiful scenery for her: between the four walls a lush woodland had arisen, with a little lake in the middle, in which the moon from the enchanted ceiling was perfectly reflected. But it was clear that fragments of his preferred setting had been incorporated as well. Protected by the roots of a giant, mossy tree, stood a four poster bed donned in black satin sheets of the best quality. All around, hundreds of candles burnt in their gothic candelabra.

The presence of the bed left little to the imagination. He didn’t know where to look.

‘God, sorry…’ he mumbled. ‘This is embarrassing.’

They were standing side by side, still holding hands. Slowly, Hermione let her body lean against his. Now she had found him, had _really_ let him in, there was only one thing she wanted to do. And that was to be even closer to him. To love him, with her body as well as her soul. ‘Don’t be ashamed,’ she whispered, laying her head against his shoulder. ‘There is no shame in loving…’ 

Her warmth pulled him in. She could feel him turn towards her. Carefully, like he was handling a china doll, he touched her cheek. Caressed it, with the back of his fingers. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her head into the movement. She could feel his breathing picking up. Feel his chest moving up and down more distinctly. He gently lifted her chin. She leaned in, and their lips found each other. 

The kiss evoked a feeling in her that was too overwhelming to describe. For the first time in her life Hermione experienced what it meant to feel truly complete. To be at home, simply by the presence of another person. The tenderness of his mouth. The fullness and warmth of his lips. She wanted to show herself to him, to open herself up to him completely. Slowly, she parted her lips and allowed him inside. He put his hands on the small of her back and pulled her even closer. A soft moan escaped her when she felt his tongue explore her mouth. She loved the feeling of him pressed up tightly against her, of him deep inside of her. She wanted him deeper still. She wanted _more_. The beautiful dress was a nuisance to her now, a barrier between them. She broke the embrace and looked up at him, asking the question without a single word.

He looked flushed, his eyes brighter than before, with the pupils impossibly wide. Hermione felt like she was drowning in a grey-blue sea. They were both breathing heavily now, panting almost.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

She nodded.

His pupils dilated even further, but for some reason, he still hesitated.

‘I want to be with you,’ Hermione whispered. ‘As close as I can. With you and only you.’ 

Her words seemed to touch him in a way she didn’t fully understand. But he kept looking at her as if searching for a lie. 

‘How can you? You don’t even know who I am.’

She smiled. ‘Oh, I know who you are. Who you _really_ are…’

He breathed out visibly at these last words, as if a weight had been lifted. Slowly, he put his hands on her arms and then moved downwards, sliding her long, velvet gloves off. His fingertips left a trail of goose bumps on her skin. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth, unconsciously opening her own slightly as she relished the idea of his lips on hers again. But when the gloves dropped to the ground, Hermione went to touch him first.

Carefully, she lay her fingers on his lips. She could feel him breathe, feel the life within him. What a miracle it was that he was a person with thoughts and emotions and memories just like she was. How almost unfathomably beautiful… She let her hands explore the part of his face that wasn’t covered by the mask and then moved downwards. When she reached the dimple at the bottom of his neck, she could feel the life again, steadily beating below the smooth skin. Softly, she pressed a kiss on the very spot. He smelt of expensive cologne, but underneath she discerned something else. His own scent, warm and welcoming.

He kissed her again. More greedily, this time. His eagerness was matched by her own. She wanted to feel him all over, touch him everywhere at the same time. She ran her fingers through his hair. White gold, almost shocking against the black of his clothes. When he put his mouth on her collarbone, she let her head lull back with a sigh, totally surrendering to the caress of his lips. He nipped and licked her neck, making her shiver with the wetness he left behind.

He stepped backwards and sat down on the bed. She laughed when he pulled her down on top of him, a mischievous smile on his face. They kissed like that for a while, with her sitting in his lap, straddling him. Her dress was riding up, and through the layers of fabric she could clearly feel his arousal. It made her moan with want. She deepened her kiss and he grabbed the back of her thighs, pulling her closer still until she was effectively grinding into him. She sighed, biting her lip. He started kissing a trail down her neck again, but when he reached her cleavage, Hermione inhaled sharply. Unsure, he stopped and looked up at her. Without saying a word, she looked back into his eyes. Then she slowly and purposefully started unlacing her bodice. He didn’t move. He just sat there, holding his breath as he watched her. When the laces were undone and her bodice hung loosely around her shoulders, she took his hands in hers and moved them up to her breasts. He squeezed them gently through the fabric, and Hermione felt a tingling sensation spread through the lower half of her body. She had always considered her breasts too small and, well… _weird-looking_. But the moment she folded her hands around his and bravely pulled the bodice down, she got to see them the way he saw them. And his reaction couldn’t be more clear. He released his breath in a shaky sigh, and she could feel his arousal intensify even further. She leaned in to invite him and he took one of her nipples greedily into his mouth. Hermione closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his head, softly moaning while he started to suckle her. She had never felt more beautiful, more wanted in her life. Her breasts were made for the sole purpose of being touched by his hands, the nipples intended only to be covered by his mouth. The pleasure she got from giving him pleasure was overwhelming.

He switched to her other nipple, rubbing the first one with his thumb. It was still wet from his saliva, which made it extra tender. Hermione gasped. She could feel her body getting ready for him. Preparing to receive him, all warm and wet.

She stood up and he helped her out of her dress. She wasn’t ashamed. She wanted to show herself to him completely. Allow him into the most intimate parts of herself.

‘God, how beautiful you are,’ he whispered hoarsely, as he looked at her standing before him, wearing nothing but her panties and the black mask on her face.

He pulled her towards him again and rolled her onto the satin sheets. When he started unbuttoning his shirt, she noticed his hands were trembling a little. She reached out and caressed his chest, feeling like her heart was going to explode with love for him. When the last button was done, she let her hand slide downward across his stomach. Under the soft skin, his muscles were tight and hard. There was hardly any hair, only a narrow natural strip just above his belt. What the French called a ‘suivez-moi’ or ‘follow-me’. And she wanted to. God, how she wanted to!

But when he took his shirt off and threw it aside, Hermione frowned. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing at the bandage around his left fore-arm. She reached for it, but he sat up and pulled it away from her like it was scolding hot. ‘Nothing! … just… I hurt myself trying out a new spell, that’s all.’

‘You never told me about that.’

He shrugged and looked away. ‘Sorry…’ His right hand was still lying on the bandage in a protective manner. Like he was worried it could come off at any minute.

Hermione wasn’t dissuaded. She grabbed his arm and gently pulled it towards her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she smiled, when she felt him resist.

‘I told you, it’s nothing…’

But when she ran her fingers over the cotton, she could feel him tightening up. Even with the mask it was apparent his face had gone all red. Hermione frowned. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll make it better again.’ And then she brought his arm to her mouth and pressed a kiss down on the bandage.

‘Oh, God,’ he exhaled. ‘Please…’

Hermione heard a sob in his voice, and she realised he was really hurt. Not just physically. His _soul_ was hurt. She could see it in her mind’s eye, a thick black scar running straight down the middle of it. She kissed the injury again. And again. And again. Each kiss was softer, more tender and sweet than the previous. As if she could heal him with nothing but her love.

He writhed under her caress like he was being tortured, but didn’t seem capable of pulling his arm away. He held it out in front of him like it wasn’t really a part of his body. Like it was paralysed. ‘Please,’ he whispered, more to himself than to her. ‘ _Please…_ ’

Then, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He rushed forward and took her face in his hands, kissing her so passionately she could hardly draw breath. She could taste the saltiness of tears on his lips. She stifled a sob herself, while she lay back and pulled him down on top of her. The weight of his body comforted her. She wished he could be closer still, that he would crush her, become part of her.

She jolted when he slipped his fingers inside her panties. Her desire became almost unbearable. If her body had been ready for him before, it was screaming for him now. The warmth between her legs intensified and she pushed her hips upwards, leaving no doubt to what it was she wanted.

He slid her panties off and unbuckled his belt. A moment later, Hermione could feel something sweet dissolve on her tongue. In some far away part of her mind she registered it as a Perfect Pill. The ultimate, invisible protection that always presented itself in the nick of time. She hadn’t been carrying one, but they weren’t in the Room of Requirement for nothing. When he kissed her, she could taste it faintly in his mouth too.

Hermione wrapped her legs around him. She felt him search for her, and then there was contact. They held their breath and looked at each other, drinking each other’s features in. Then, slowly, he started opening her up. When the actual tearing happened, Hermione inhaled sharply. The pain was bittersweet. The pure physical translation of an emotion, something that touched all the layers of her being. It overwhelmed her, and she had to hold back not to start weeping. 

He pushed further still, until he was all the way inside. Only then did they both release their breath, and with it, a part of the pressure. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip and she nodded, indicating she was all right. He rested his forehead against hers. There was something so intimate about this, so utterly honest. They might be wearing masks, but Hermione had never felt more truthfully connected with another person. He kissed her on her open mouth, then moved on to her cheek and earlobe. She entwined her fingers with his and he pulled her hand up over her head. Then he slowly started making love to her.

Hermione closed her eyes, completely surrendering to the feeling. She loved the way her body opened up to him, how it received him fully. This was how it was always meant to be. Him and her together, as one being. He was completely inside of her now, almost at the limit of what she could give. And yet that was what she wanted: to give him even more. Her world now consisted solely of the sounds he was making, his touch, his body on top of hers, _inside_ of hers. She combed her free hand through his hair and then grabbed on to it. As he picked up the pace, the inside of her thighs rubbed against his sides, her knees quivering on the rhythm of his movements. He went in deeper and she gasped with desire and delicious, delicious pain. She kissed him on his cheek, his neck, every place of him she could reach. She wanted to devour him, to swallow him whole. He groaned when she licked his shoulder and then bit down into it. He grabbed her hair in his turn, and she pressed her cheek against his, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She was whimpering now, her hips following his movements as best they could. His smooth chest rubbed across on her breasts as he thrusted in and out of her, making her nipples rise up tout and hard. They moved in the rhythm he imposed. Ever faster. She moaned desperately. She wanted… something. She couldn’t define it. But she _needed_ it.

‘More,’ she begged. ‘More…’

‘I’m close,’ he panted. 

‘Do it...’

He grabbed on to her more tightly. She could feel his muscles tense up. He was effectively crushing her now, a fact which aroused her terribly. ‘Yes, like that,’ she managed to utter. ‘ _Go on…_ ’

He was so deep inside of her that she could hardly bear it anymore. Yet she arched her back into his movements, pushing down further into him still. His moans became louder, and so did hers. She dug her fingers into his back, and when the feeling came, she screamed without reservation or shame. Shivering, she let it wash over her, let it lift her up to unknown heights, while he spilled himself inside of her with a strangled noise of pleasure. 

He collapsed on top of her, the weight of his body fully on hers. Eyes closed, Hermione lay perfectly still as she relished the feeling of the last sensations ebbing away. It was like sliding into a warm bath.

With a sigh he rolled off her, on his back. She cuddled up close, her cheek against his chest, and he put his arm around her in a protective gesture. She could hear his heart beating steadily, and wondered if she had ever been this happy in her life. So many different emotions ran through her, but that was what stood out. Happiness and a deep sense of calm, as if she had finally found her place in the world.

‘I could lie like this forever,’ she whispered.

He buried a kiss in her curls. ‘I wish we could, sweetheart.’

‘It was my first time,’ Hermione admitted.

‘That’s sweet.’

She looked up at him.

He shrugged and said, rather laconically: ‘Yeah, all right. Mine too.’

She smiled, relieved that other girl – what was her name again? – hadn’t shared this with him.

She sighed as he gently caressed her shoulder with his fingertips. ‘I don’t know why I waited so long,’ she continued. ‘I guess I was just afraid…’

He stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought. ‘We’re all afraid…’

The sadness in his voice made her look up again. ‘What are you afraid of, my love?’

He turned his free arm over and looked at the bandage. Carefully, Hermione lay her palm on it. He cringed a little, but didn’t pull back this time. ‘This thing that just happened between us… You have no idea what it meant to me.’ He shook his head. ‘What it _means_ to me. I’ve felt so alone the last couple of months…’

Hermione nodded. ‘Me too...’

They entwined their fingers and kissed, softly.

‘I’ll always be there for you,’ she whispered. ‘You know that, right? Now that I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.’

He looked back at her, his eyes soft and grey in the candlelight. ‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

His smile made her heart sing. There was nothing in the world that made her happier than to see him happy. ‘I love your smile,’ she sighed, tracing it with her fingertip. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘ _You_ are beautiful.’

Embarrassed, she turned her head, but he stopped her and made her look at him again. ‘I mean it,’ he spoke. ‘I’ve never seen such a beauty in my life.’

‘What about… you know… that other girl,’ Hermione shrugged.

He scoffed. ‘She means nothing to me. She doesn’t understand me. Not like you do. She thinks she does, but she’s way off.’

Hermione couldn’t help smiling again.

He grinned. ‘Yeah, you like that, don’t you?’

She nodded, her smile growing wider. They kissed again, a little more passionately now. Hermione’s breathing got faster. She ran her fingers over the back of his neck, through his hair, and suddenly, she could feel the straps on his mask re-appear. At the same time, the velvet bindings of the Love-is-Blindfold manifested themselves as well. Somewhere in the forest around them, a clock chimed. 

‘Midnight,’ she smiled, her lips still against his. ‘Nice to meet you.’

But when she opened her eyes, the world stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

The eyes looking back at her weren’t Ron’s. The lips she was kissing weren’t his either. And that hair certainly wasn’t Ron’s!

Hermione felt paralysed. She could hardly move, she was too much in shock. Slowly, she breathed in, the air audibly hissing through her teeth. ‘ _Malfoy?_ ’

He pulled his mask off, thereby shattering the last smidgeon of doubt. 

Hermione made an indiscernible noise. It was like the ground opened up underneath her.

‘Granger…’ he said in wonder.

A blinding pain shot through her. Why didn’t she move away? Why didn’t she just turn around and run? And suddenly, she realised she still felt a hopeless sort of love for him. God, that stupid mask! 

Hermione pulled the Love-is-Blindfold from her face and threw it away like it was a leech. The excruciating feeling for Malfoy died away, but not without leaving a sickening sort of hollowness behind. She got up and scrambled away from him, trying to cover her nakedness as best she could.

‘Hermione…’ he tried. ‘Hermione, wait!’

But she had already picked up her clothes and disappeared behind the screen that the Room - in its mercy - had provided for her. The dress had turned back into her everyday robes at midnight. She threw them on haphazardly and made for the door.

 

*

 

Hermione ran through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, her breath becoming increasingly rapid and shallow. Tears were pricking behind her eyes. But she refused to give into to the grief. Not here. Not yet. 

When she reached the safety of the empty dormitory, she crawled in bed and pulled the covers over her head. She couldn’t bear the idea of taking her clothes off first. Of being confronted with her body. She forcefully closed her eyes and tried to block out any thought, any feeling whatsoever. 

She lay like that for a while, panting, until a soft purr reached her ears. A paw tapped carefully at the covers. She opened them, and Crookshanks slid in her arms. It was only then, with her face buried in his soft fur, that Hermione started weeping. With quiet, helpless sobs.

Malfoy.

Why hadn’t she seen it? The signs had been everywhere. The black four-poster bed, the candelabra, that _cologne_ for God’s sake! Even if she couldn’t have identified Malfoy as such, she should at least have known those things could never have come from Ron. They were completely incompatible with his character. 

Hermione clenched her teeth. It was all the fault of that ditsy Lavender and her stupid Love-is-Blindfold! _They should have called it a Deaf-Dumb- And-Blindfold_ , she thought begrudgingly. _With the emphasis on ‘Dumb’_. How could she have been so stupid? A mask that pointed you to The One? It was just another variant to a love potion, that was all. How else could she have wound up in the arms of someone like Malfoy?

She cringed when she thought of the things she had done with him. How she had presented herself on a platter, like some common whore, for him to do with as he pleased. She hadn’t even remembered to retrieve her panties before leaving! 

But in a way, the things she had _said_ to him were even worse than what she had done with him. How she loved him. How she would never let him go. How beautiful she thought his smile was… 

And suddenly she realised he would of course tell _everybody_. By morning, the entire student body of Slytherin would know her shame, and it wouldn’t take long before the whole school did. He was probably bragging about it at this very moment. This was the ultimate revenge for him. The filthy little Mudblood had given up her virginity to him. What a joke!

Hermione shuddered at the idea. She could only imagine what her friends would say. Harry. _Ron_. They wouldn’t believe it, at first. But when they found out the truth…

As she sobbed into Crookshanks’ fur, contemplating the horrors that lay in her future, Hermione heard the door of the dormitory creak open. Her heart jumped to her throat, but it was just Lavender and Parvati walking in. And apparently, they hadn’t had a good time at the Ball either.

Lavender was crying openly.

‘There, there,’ said Parvati, and Hermione wished that someone would come and sit on _her_ bed and comfort _her_ , the way Parvati was now doing for Lavender.

Unconsciously, she moved a little under the covers, and Lavender started, whispering: ‘Hermione’s awake!’

‘No no,’ hushed Parvati. ‘Don’t you worry yourself about her. That one’s been asleep for hours. Little Miss Perfect thought it was beneath her to go to the Masquerade, remember?’

‘I wish I hadn’t gone either,’ sniffled Lavender.

‘At least you had the courage to show up,’ Parvati said disdainfully. ‘You put your heart out there. You took the risk of getting it broken. Or would you rather be an ice-queen, like her?’

Lavender considered that for a moment. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Anything but that.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ said Parvati.

For the next hour or so, Hermione was forced to listen to Lavender’s sobs, while desperately stifling her own. She had never felt more alone in her life.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Quite the night, wasn’t it?’ Harry spoke, that morning during breakfast.

Ron nodded. ‘You can say that again. When the masks came off at twelve, Lavender was in tears.’

‘What for?’

‘Dunno. Something about not being able to find me. She said everything was ruined, but when I asked, she didn’t want to explain. She just made me promise to never leave her again. Ever.’ He uttered the last word with doom in his voice.

Hermione sat behind her bowl of porridge, trying very hard not to throw up. She had hesitated a long time before coming down that morning, debating with herself whether or not to stay in bed sick. But she knew that would only be delaying the inevitable. At one point, she would have to face Malfoy and his followers. She could see it now, in her mind’s eye, like a nightmare in the flesh. Malfoy walking up to her in the Hall, all smug-like, while he whirled her panties from his wand. ‘You forgot something last night, Granger,’ he would grin, flinging them down in the middle of table. ‘ _Filthy_ , just like you.’

Hermione cringed as a new spasm made her stomach churn. She glanced over her shoulder for about the millionth time, but the Slytherin table was still blissfully empty.

‘It _was_ strange, though, not recognising anybody anymore,’ Harry continued, totally unaware of the turmoil that raged within Hermione. ‘I mean, I know what Dumbledore was trying to do. And it worked, too. Everybody was dancing and chatting with people they had never so much as looked at before. Lots of people made new friends from other Houses. But for me…’ He looked at Ron and Hermione. ‘I just felt really _alone_ without you guys.’

Hermione gave him a sad smile. ‘Me too,’ she whispered, barely audible, as she put her hand on his.

Harry’s smile was a comfort to her.

‘D’you know what was really funny, though?’ Ron frowned.

They shook their head.

He glanced around to make sure the coast was clear and then whispered: ‘I didn’t miss Lav at all.’

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

‘I mean,’ continued Ron, ‘isn’t that weird? We’re around each other all the time, but last night, I didn’t even _think_ of her. Only of…’ he glanced at Hermione. ‘Only of… you lot,’ he shrugged at Harry and Hermione in general.

Hermione closed her eyes. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. Abruptly, she let go of Harry’s hand, and stood up. Without a word to her friends, she started making for the doorway. But just as she was about to reach it, the moment she had been dreading all morning, finally arrived. A big group of Slytherin students came filing in, thereby effectively blocking her way. 

Hermione stopped dead in her track. All eyes turned to her. Including an all too familiar pair of greyish blue ones. Her stomach jolted at the sight. He was right in front of her! Just like last night at the Masquerade. Last night, when he had taken her hand and kissed it… Only there were no masks now. No protection to hide behind.

Malfoy didn’t say a word. He just looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione frowned warily, her chest heaving. She could feel the eyes of the other students boring into her. Pansy and her friends were looking at her with open enmity. God, she had to get out of here! Before they all burst out in laughter. Or called her a slut, or worse… Desperate, Hermione plunged forward. There wasn’t enough room and she was forced to squeeze past him, the front of their bodies staying in contact for at least a good second. In a reflex, he put his hand under her elbow to help her by. Hermione let out a slight whimper at the contact. When she reached the other side, she just _ran_. 

As she sped through the corridors, she cursed her own foolishness. If anybody had still doubted Malfoy’s story, her reaction just now would have corroborated it. What was the matter with her? This wasn’t like her at all. She was acting totally irrationally. 

She ducked into a deserted side-corridor and pushed her back up against the wall. As she tried to regain control of her breathing, she fought back the tears. Crying wouldn’t do her any good. She needed to regain control of herself. She needed to _think_.

Okay, her reputation was shot. There was nothing she could do about that anymore. But she _could_ get to the bottom of why this had happened.

At that moment, the bell chimed, urging them all to class. They had Potions the first period. That meant she would have to be in the same room as Malfoy for an entire hour. And suddenly she realised she wouldn’t be able to do it. 

For the first time in her life, Hermione ditched a class.

 

*

 

She felt guilty lying to Madam Pince, but she needed the library, and she needed it now. Her immaculate record made sure she was trusted instantly when stating she was there to look up a book for professor Snape. But in reality, her research was of a different nature entirely.

 _I need to find out the workings of the Love-is-Blindfold_ , she thought, as she flicked her wand pulling several volumes on magical objects from the shelves. _I have to know what last night meant._

The explanation Lavender had given her about the mask was clearly faulty. She wasn’t right for Malfoy, and he certainly wasn’t the one for her! The mask seemed to work very much like a common love potion. You wore it, and you got smitten by someone. The question was…

_Why Malfoy? Why did the Love-is-Blindfold point me to him, specifically?_

Could he have a secret crush on her? Did he ask Lavender to slip her the mask in some way?

Hermione shook her head. No, that was stupid. Malfoy had been just as baffled as she was when the masks came off last night. And Lavender sure had been disappointed too, Hermione’d had a front row seat to that show all night. It was clear the girl had intended to wear the thing herself. 

So, what then? Had the magic of the Love-is-Blindfold mixed badly with that of Dumbledore’s Masquerade Spell?

Hermione frowned when she remembered how she had felt, at midnight, when Dumbledore’s spell had been lifted. She had been appalled at recognising Malfoy, but she had still been violently in love with him…

A twinge in her stomach reminded her of the feeling, and suddenly, a deep sadness struck her. For a moment, alone in the quiet and deserted library, Hermione allowed herself to remember it all fully. His touch, his kiss, her own loving devotion…

The fact it had been so wonderful certainly didn’t make things easier. Hermione had never expected her first time to be any good. A lot of fumbling, awkward mismatches in rhythm and a premature climax from the boy were all her realistic brain had dared to hope for. But last night had been no less than perfection. It was like their minds and bodies had completely tuned in to each other’s needs. They had fit like a glove.

Hermione breathed in shakily. If only she could have experienced this with Ron! How happy she would have been now…

She shook her head and continued flipping through the pages of the volume in front of her. And before long, she found what she sought.

But the definition in the book didn’t comfort her in the slightest. 

“Love-is-Blindfold”, it stated, with a pencil-drawn picture next to it. “A mask of Italian making, dating back to somewhere around 1725-1729. Created by the powerful matchmaker witch Claudia-Sofia Lorecardina. All who wear it will be pointed to their one true love. Note: Quite rare. Several masks were fabricated, but only few survive as its working often caused emotions to run high.’

Aghast, Hermione leaned back in her seat. If this was true, then Lavender’s explanation had been correct all along. And that would mean… That would _mean_ …

She closed the book with a loud thud and jumped out of her seat. She wasn’t going to accept this. Not without solid proof.

_It was Dumbledore’s spell on top of the magic of the Love-is-Blindfold, she assured herself. _It_ has _to be_._

__

Well, there was only one way to find out.

__

She would have to put the mask on again…

__


	6. Chapter 6

As Hermione entered the Room of Requirement, the irony of the situation didn’t escape her. The Room had gone back to its standard guise as the Room of Hidden Things, looking rather like a giant lost-and-found. And here she was, desperately seeking her lost virginity. Or the object that had caused her to lose it, anyway.

She wandered through the piles and piles of books and other artifacts, hoping she would somehow come across the Love-is-Blindfold. She was the one that had put it here, so she should be the one able to find it again, shouldn’t she?

Her foot got caught on something, and she reddened when she noticed it were her panties. Quickly, she tucked them away in her robes. At least she wouldn’t have to be confronted with Malfoy whirling them around in public. A fact which in itself made the trip down here rather worth it, even if she never discovered the Love-is-Blindfold again.

When she reached a big, musty cupboard, half hidden under a sheet, Hermione stopped and looked around. She wondered where to go next. Her situation was getting pretty hopeless. She had been roaming the room for more than an hour now, which meant she had missed second period too. The others would probably be having their break by now.

Hermione cringed at the thought of Harry and Ron. Would Malfoy’s story have reached them already? Probably. Things as juicy as this spread like wildfire. Malfoy might even have told them in person. After all, how could he deny himself such an exquisite pleasure?

A noise got her out of her musings. The door. Someone was in here with her!

By the time she had decided whether or not to hide, it was too late. 

Malfoy came walking in, with a purposeful tread. When he noticed her, he started even more than she did. He blanched, a fact she had not deemed possible, considering how pale he was to begin with.

‘What are you doing here?’ he blurted out, his tone a mixture between wariness and complete surprise.

Hermione arched her eyebrows. ‘Me? What are _you_ doing here?’

‘…’

‘Well?’ she said, attempting to take a defiant stance. But her voice came out high-pitched and nervous. She could hardly bear to look at him. His face, his eyes, his mouth. All of those things reminded her of last night. And she realised he wasn’t the same person to her anymore. He would never be. 

He looked at her intently and nodded. ‘Now I understand…’ He came closer, and her stomach jolted. ‘Are you _spying_ on me, Granger?’

Hermione blinked. This was about the last thing she would have expected him to say. ‘Wait… What?’

‘Are you following me around?’ He took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘ _Answer me!_ ’

‘What? No!’ she yelled, struggling. ‘Let go of me!’

He released her and stepped back, as if surprised by his own actions. ‘Oh. Sorry, I thought…’ He glanced at something behind her and shook his head. 

Hermione was still breathing heavily. She felt like her heart was going to pound straight out of her chest. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, frowning.

He took a moment to come to himself. ‘Nothing.’ He looked straight at her again. I’m just… a bit confused, that’s all.’

She uttered a bitter laugh. ‘I know the feeling.’

She saw a glimmer of — what was it: disappointment? – in his eyes.

‘Last night…’ he began.

Hermione breathed in deeply. ‘God, do we really have to do this?’

‘Just answer me one thing: did you think I was him?’

‘Who?’

‘Potter, of course,’ he spat. ‘Who else?’

Hermione realised he thought she was in love with Harry. She didn’t even begin to consider how she was supposed to feel about that, let alone how to answer the question.

He scoffed disdainfully at her lack of a reply.

And suddenly, a blind rage overtook her. Who was he to judge her? How dare he, after what they had just been through together? It might have been a mistake. It might have been all her fault, but it happened none the less. Didn’t he have an ounce of class?

‘What about you?’ she retorted, in an accusatory tone. ‘I bet you thought I was Pansy, didn’t you?’ She didn’t know why she cared. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she realised she would find the idea unbearable.

He looked taken aback by her question. When he spoke, the sneer was completely gone from his voice. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Well, maybe in the very beginning, but…’ He looked at her, a slight frown on his face. ‘You are very… _different_ … from her.’

‘Different?’

He shrugged. ‘Pansy would never behave the way you did.’

Hermione grew bright red. She could feel the heat spread across her face.

‘No, not like that… Hermione, that’s not what I meant.’ He moved closer again, his voice softer, suddenly.

She stepped away from him, her back almost against the cupboard now. His eyes darted towards it, just for a second.

A strange sensation passed through Hermione as the cupboard’s shadow fell upon her. But she took no heed of it. She was full of strange sensations at the moment. Most of which seemed to be caused by Malfoy’s eyes, so grey and intense. And the memories they stirred up…

She abruptly turned her shoulder to him, desperate to break the mesmerisation. She needed to push him away, to save herself! ‘I suppose you’ve told your friends all about the sordid thing that happened between us last night, _Malfoy_?’ she lashed out, with all the disdain she could muster. She made sure to use his family name to stress the divide between them. To show him she didn’t care, hadn’t even _noticed_ , that he had called her Hermione.

But when he didn’t respond, she could feel her resolve wavering. It was like she was standing on a ledge, struggling to keep her balance. At the tipping point of tumbling either forward or back. She looked at him, her nervousness growing. ‘Well, have you?’

Stone set in his eyes as he gazed upon her. ‘No,’ he finally replied, lifting his chin.

She frowned, slowly turning towards him again. She could feel a force pulling her in. A lingering remnant of the love she had felt for him yesterday. It was still so powerful it almost took her breath away. ‘No?’ she echoed, hopeful.

‘No,’ he repeated, his voice dripping with revulsion now. ‘If you think I’d divulge the fact I’ve let myself be seduced by a filthy Mudblood, you’re even stupider than I thought.’ And with a scoff he added: ‘Even if she gave a performance worthy of a pro.’

He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had stuck her in the face. She had never considered the fact he might feel shame about what they had shared. Shame about doing it with _her_. She stepped further away, and the cupboard slammed into her back. He winced, as if he felt the impact himself. Unceremoniously, he grabbed her by the upper-arms and whirled her around. ‘Get out of here, you little slut,’ he hissed. ‘Get back to your Gryffindor goody-goodies and your Chosen One. Put up your innocent-virgin-act for them. Instead of filling my head with lies that were intended for Potter. You _revolt_ me.’

Tears sprang in Hermione’s eyes. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. Was this the man she had given herself to for the first time? Could fate really be so cruel?

Their faces were just inches away from each other now, as he continued holding on to her so tightly it almost hurt. A strange suite of emotions passed through his eyes as he watched her cry. ‘Get out of here.’ He had to struggle the words out of his throat. ‘ _Fuck off, now!!!_ ’

Hermione shrieked at the violence of his tone. She turned around and ran, for the third time in just twelve hours.

 

*

 

She spent the rest of the day in the dormitory. She had given up trying to act as if she wasn’t sick. She really did feel awful. Like she was dying, almost. She had never experienced anything like it in her life. 

The hours crept by, as she and Lavender lay in opposite beds, one sobbing loudly, the other one in her mind alone.

When night fell, and even Lavender had cried herself to sleep, Hermione rose. She left the room and made for the corridor on the seventh floor. She didn’t even look out for Finch. Her mind was so blocked off by grief, she felt like it was _he_ who had to worry about bumping into _her_ now. She would hiss at him more ferociously than his cat ever could.

When she entered the Room of Hidden Things, Hermione closed her eyes. Malfoy wasn’t there, thankfully. But the Love-is-Blindfold was. Somewhere. She cleared her mind, and when she opened her eyes again, she spotted it on the floor underneath an antique table. Hermione crouched down and pulled it towards her. She knew it was torture, but she couldn’t let it go. She _had_ to know.

Slowly, she moved the mask in front of her eyes.

Immediately, everything else fell away. All the expectations, the misunderstandings and the bullshit that came with being who she was in public. The Love-is-Blindfold left her only with the pure feeling. The deep inner knowing. There was no denying it. He was the one for her. 

With a sob, Hermione let the mask fall into her lap. She buried her face in her hands, and started weeping.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Hermione went to class just like she always did. Harry and Ron asked if she was all right, she told them she’d had a spot of the stomach flu, and that was that. Malfoy looked back at her once during the first lesson, but ignored her pretty much after. 

He had put his mask back on, just as she had.

For that was what they did, wasn’t it? It was what every other person in the world did. Put on an invisible mask to hide their true self behind. A mask that determined who they were in public. That trapped them in the image others had of them. That they had of themselves, even.

It was comfortable, slipping back into that role. Much easier than the alternative, anyway.

As the year progressed, Hermione convinced herself it didn’t matter she was never going to end up with the person she was intended to be with. After all, many people never did and they were perfectly happy. Besides, she was in love with Ron and that was all that mattered, right? Not the fact he wasn’t exactly right for her. Her own thoughts and emotions were the guidelines she intended to follow in life, not the writing in some distant stars.

But sometimes, especially at night, when she was alone and everything was quiet, she found herself thinking back to the night of the Masquerade. To that big four-poster bed between the trees, his pale skin against hers… And that feeling of being completely herself. Completely accepting the person she was. She had felt so relieved then, so free. Even the memory made her breathe easier.

How right Dumbledore had been, about only being able to show who you truly were when your face was hidden…

Had Malfoy shown her his true self too? she often wondered. Those things he had told her. That he felt alone, that he was afraid…

That he thought she was more beautiful than any girl he had ever seen in his life.

It had seemed to come straight out of his heart.

But then she remembered all the awful things he had said afterwards, when he knew who she really was, during their confrontation in the Room of Hidden Things. That she was a slut, that he was revolted by her. And she didn’t know which version of him was closer to the truth.

As Harry became more and more adamant in his suspicions about Malfoy being a Death Eater, Hermione often thought of the bandage she had seen on his left fore-arm. How desperately he had tried to keep it away from her. How he had winced when she touched it. The idea she might have been caressing the Dark Mark, kissing it even, made bile rise up to her mouth. But whenever the evidence had almost convinced her, whenever she was on the verge of telling Harry and Ron what really happened, something else flashed before her mind’s eye. Malfoy running his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes asking her if she was allright, that moment when he was fully inside of her for the first time. There lay such tenderness in that gesture. Such absolute kindness.

And she decided no one capable of this kind of love could ever be a Death Eater.

So she tucked her suspicions about Malfoy safely away with her feelings for him, giving in to neither. How could she, when both were so intertwined? She ignored all those times she saw him looking at her out of the corner of her eyes, turning his head the moment she did. And she didn’t allow the notion she had seen that cupboard somewhere before, or the fact she had a faint memory of seeing a thick black scar in her mind while she had caressed his arm.

_His thumb running over her lip…_

_His eyes, searching hers…_

Draco could never be a Death Eater.

Never.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> If you liked it, please let me know!


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